Dangerous Secrets
by Cythwyn
Summary: Meet Talis, the tall, dark, handsome young man, his sister, Reza, the child who can talk to the earth, and Alanna's worst nightmare: Duke Roger's son. Pleeeaase critique!
1. The Journey Begins

  
  
The boy was only thirteen, but had a gentle, quiet air to him, an air of maturity. His large black eyes were deep and calm and his flawless tan face was better than handsome; it was beautiful. Many a female were continuously draped over him, which was one of the reasons why, for the time being, he was now sitting upon a boulder in the wilderness, the other reason being he wished to be with his lifetime friend. He glanced up at his giant companion and frowned, tightening the knot that held back his long black hair. Concern reflected in his endless eyes. "Drake? You look worried. Is everything all right?"  
  
The black dragonlike creature clicked its silver teeth together, not answering for a long while. Its expression not many people could decipher, but years with it gave the boy advantages in doing so. And the boy was right—its scaly body was restless with worry. Its tightly knitted muscles rippled underneath its glittering jewel-like scales and its blue-and-silver eyes gleamed with a cold intelligence. It was large, alone, but in respect to true dragons it was tiny: twenty-five meters from nose to tail. Black spikes swept back off its smooth head and its silver claws, the mark of an immortal, tightened upon the boulder it was resting on as it stared off above the trees. Finally it tilted its square head downward to address the young man. Its voice was low and rumbling, yet strangely feminine. "Therrrre is fire thrrough the trrrees. It is in the dirrrrection of yourr home."  
  
His eyes widened. "Please, lift me up."

* * *

The creature, also known as the Drake, lowered her head to the ground and Talis, the young man, straddled her neck just behind her horns, which he grasped expertly. The Drake lifted her neck and stood on her hind legs, allowing him to see more clearly.  
  
Indeed, smoke was rising. It looked as if it were a bonfire of some sort. The golden light of the setting sun cut it to pieces, making it difficult to see; it looked like a magical fog a powerful mage may have created. In fact Talis would have thought it such if the Drake had not said anything.  
  
Talis' frown deepened, and his mind raced as he tried to think of any rites or ceremonies that the villagers would be celebrating at this time, then perhaps newly born children. Finding none, he rapped the Drake's skull with his knuckles, fear flying freely through his veins. "Let's go. Quickly."  
  
The Drake knelt down, spreading her clawed wings, and Talis slid down her neck to sit astride her shoulders and braced himself, a precaution he had learned the hard way. And he was right; coiling her muscles, the Drake shot straight into the air, clenching her wings and unfolding them at the height of her leap. Talis closed his eyes as his stomach left him, and only when they were flying straight did he open them. The Drake took his "quickly" order literally—the air was rushing past them so quickly he turned his face to the side, watching the ground below. In no time at all they slowed and descended. With horror Talis felt a low rumbling begin deep in his friend's chest. "Wait!" he cried. "What're you—"  
  
The Drake roared, so loudly that it vibrated the air and the scaly body beneath the boy's clinging one. She took a deep breath and roared again, smoke streaming from her mouth. Talis gasped as he stared around the Drake's slowly beating wings. People were running and screaming, trying desperately to leave the huge black monster behind. But that wasn't what he was gazing at; it was the heart of the smoke that attracted his attention.  
His home was a smoldering ruin.  
  
"Gods—" he choked, then saw something else that chilled him even more. A wooden pillar, stretching up to the sky like a dark finger, and tied to it—  
  
"Drake!" he called. "Let me down!"  
  
Skimming just above the ground, the Drake circled and came back around. "Hold on," she rumbled, and bringing her front and hind legs forward, she stiff-legged, dragging them across the ground. Talis was thrown forward, knocking the breath out of his lungs as he hit her muscular neck. They slid a few yards, and then halted. The Drake crouched and Talis leapt down five feet to bolt across the earth. "Marilyn!" he cried. "Marilyn!"  
  
The woman tied to the pillar moaned and stirred, eyelids flickering. Her body was bloody and swollen, and she was naked. Talis cradled her head awkwardly, scrabbling at the knots that held her. "Drake! Help me!"  
  
The Drake reached forward and cut the leather strips with a single silver talon. The woman fell forward into his arms, hanging heavily, and if he weren't tall and muscular for his age her weight would have knocked him to the ground. "Marilyn," Talis whispered, hugging the beaten body to him. Her swollen black eyes flickered again, and opened to fix upon his face. The Drake left, and Talis could hear her roaring distantly at the still-screaming people.  
  
"They stoned me," his foster mother whispered. "Right after you left, they stoned me and whipped me. They thought me to be a witch for a long time..."  
  
"They didn't know what they were doing," Talis replied, trying to find some way to hold her closely without hurting her.  
  
She smiled. "You're forgiving," she murmured. "You're just like your father." She must be delirious, Talis thought bitterly. His father was nothing but an unknown man visiting his dead mother one night, when she was naught but a young woman.  
  
Another thought occurred to him and he gasped. "Reza! Where's Reza? Where is my sister?"  
  
The woman's eyes closed. "No," Talis whispered. "No, Marilyn, wake up. Please stay. Stay just a little bit longer. Tell me where Reza is."  
  
His foster mother's eyes stared past the boy she considered her son at something behind him. "She ran. Ghost." Talis didn't know whether she meant their gelding, Ghost, or if she was somehow seeing one. "Goodbye, Marilyn," he said softly, lowering her gently to the ground. Her eyes closed. She was smiling.  
  
Something was behind him. He turned, already knowing who it would be, and saw a giant black shadow towering over him. It wasn't the Drake.  
  
Talis bowed awkwardly in the seated position he was in to the Black God, letting his mother go, and straightened. For a moment, he could see the dim outline of a woman standing beside the god, who reached out and touched him gently on the forehead. A powerful shock jolted his body; when his vision cleared, he was alone.  
  
Alone except for his friend, who had returned from terrorizing the offending villagers.  
  
"Why arrre you hunched overrrr like that?" she queried, lowering her fierce head down to him. Her nose touched the dead woman lightly, nudging the cold body. "She's dead."  
  
"I know," he said simply. "Us humans are usually sad when one of our kind we know and love dies."  
  
The vast wings shifted up and spread in a shrug. "Seems pointless, though I do not have anyone whom I love is gone." She was the last of her species, and the only friend she had was the young mortal boy. "I do not think the villagerrs will be botherrring us," she added wickedly, cold eyes sparking with amusement. "They rrrran away verrry quickly. If you wish to burrry your motherr, as is the human rrritual, we have time."  
  
"No," Talis said, his mind suddenly racing. "We don't have time. Reza is out there and there are bandits on the road. Marilyn can't have any ceremony." He gave his mother one last kiss of farewell and stood. "Could you dig a hole? Somewhere off in the trees?"  
  
The Drake picked up the prone form of the woman in one paw and walked three- legged, wings spread for balance, off into the forest. Talis followed at a run and chose a peaceful-looking spot he knew his mother always spent her time at and the Drake gouged the earth and placed the body in. They covered the grave and Talis stared up at his friend. "Help me find Reza?"  
  
The savage teeth glinted as she shook her head. "I apologize," she growled, eyes glittering strangely. "I must leave. My inwarrrd firrre is dying and my brrood must have heat."  
  
He nodded, accepting this. While in cooler weather, the Drake's body heat dropped significantly, becoming a fatal danger to her unborn offspring, who could die while still in the womb. "Could you at least bring me somewhere where there are horses, so I may find my sister?"  
  
In reply he was swept up and dumped unceremoniously onto her shoulders once more.  
  
Talis rode fast and hard, kneading the bay's sweaty neck with both hands. There had been no time to grab a bridle or saddle; besides, he was used to riding roughshod bareback. His mother had seen to that. No, he preferred speed to drolleries.  
  
The Black God's touch had given him the information in which he needed to find his beloved sister. She was heading up the Western Pass, towards the kingdom of Tortall, upon their silver gelding, Ghost. And when he thought of it, he was probably half a day or so behind her. He knew Ghost was very quick, quicker even than the bay he was riding now. He had rarely ridden him himself since he usually never went anywhere and relied on the Drake for transportation. But it was enough to know that he was lithe, wiry, and very, very fast.  
  
The bay leapt over a fallen tree and they cleared into the Western Pass. Talis checked the mare's gait, leaning back so the exhausted animal slid in the dirt to a halt, extending her neck in fatigue. Talis allowed her to rest for a few minutes, then nudged her side. She shook her head, spraying him with foam and sweat, and Talis relented. He would not force the poor creature to do anything but rest. It was foolhardy to push her that far, that fast, in the first place. He wanted to find his sister, but it was obvious he wasn't getting anywhere soon. He had found the Western Pass, and that would have to do for now. However, there were bandits along this track.  
  
Slipping from the mare, the boy gripped her muzzle firmly and led her to the side of the Pass. He had brought what supplies he had stolen from the farm that he had also taken the mare, and along with it, some wiping cloths and water. He allowed the mare to drink while he soaked the cloths with her sweat, moving as quietly as he could lest he attract the attention of the many bandits along the Pass. But he couldn't help but murmur ever so slightly to the mare, comforting her. "And what is your name, lady? I'll bet it's something noble. I'm sorry I stole you like that, but you see, I'm searching for my lost kin and I'm in a bit of a hurry. As soon as we get to the next wayfarer station we'll give you some proper food, lady. Hm. You seem very intelligent and a bit small—you're not very old, are you? At least a yearling. I can't believe you carried me this far—me, a big hulking galoot. You must be very strong. You'll be Brighter, for the time being, before you go back to your farm."  
  
A small sound distracted him for a moment, and he froze, cocking his head in the direction of the sound in order to hear better. Nothing. Probably a small animal of some sort, but he couldn't afford to take chances. Talis' hand slid down to his side, where his small, serrated blade was kept, hanging on his waist. He held it firmly in a perfect grip, waiting.  
  
He didn't have to wait long. Someone moved quietly behind him, getting into position. Brighter jerked her head up and moved restlessly, ears pinning themselves to the back of her skull. Then whoever-it-was pounced. The leap took only a few seconds, but Talis was well trained by both his mother and the Drake to use as little as a second to his advantage. Whipping around, he leapt to one side so the attacker flew by him.  
  
Something slammed into him. He was so preoccupied with the first that he hadn't stopped to consider there may be more of them, waiting to ambush him! Which was most likely the idea, he decided. Twisting, he managed to lever his foe's arm away from his throat, where it was wrapping around, and stamped on his foot, shoving back. Crouching, he slipped from the grasp as his assailant stumbled backward and threw himself forward before he could get his balance again.  
  
The first bandit was heading towards Brighter, who reared angrily. Talis shot towards her, leaping upon her back. She was forced down onto all fours by his weight and leaped forward, anger and fear giving her strength to work her exhausted muscles. Someone grabbed Talis' ankle, throwing him off-balance, and Brighter danced, trying to keep him in the saddle. Then came the burning pain along his side as one of them stabbed him.  
  
Pain compelled his body forward; he wrapped his arms around the mare's neck, hanging off one side. She galloped, starting off on the wrong foot. She was limping. Somehow, she had managed to injure her leg.  
  
Five minutes, and we're already in trouble, Talis thought ruefully, squeezing Brighter's sides with his knees. She shot off like an arrow in the wrong direction, off the path, and into the unknown dark. Talis leaned to the left and squeezed his left leg, so the bay galloped, still limping, up the Pass.  
  
The girl bounced to and fro in the saddle. She was normally a good rider, but the present circumstances made her limbs tight and unyielding to the movements of the horse and she was unable to regain her balance, just barely managing to stay on. She was the very image of her true mother, auburn hair and clear blue-hazel eyes alike. Her face was not as tan as her brother's; one glance, you would not have been able to tell they were siblings. She was small and fair; he was tall and dark. However, due to scrapes, burns and bruises, you could no longer tell she was, a few hours before, a laughing young child.  
  
But that didn't matter now. Her mother was dead, dead and gone with Marilyn and she was left with nothing. She was only seven, but she understood such things as death more than the average child. Her foster mother had explained to her what such things were—"Death is a time when you leave your earthly body to join the Black God, the Master of all Death, in his realms of the Underworld."  
  
And Marilyn had done just that. But the girl didn't like that. She didn't like that her caretaker had to go live with the Dark One so soon, and was angry with him for taking her. Not that it was his fault, but she couldn't help it. Shaking her head to clear herself of the miserable thoughts, she leaned over Ghost's neck, burying her face in the horse's whipping gray mane. But soon her thoughts ran away with her again.  
  
She had fled her home in terror when they had grabbed Marilyn, running to Ghost, whom she had saddled just before, ready to ride. Her brother had just left with Drake, his own comrade, whom he rarely got to see. Now the girl was galloping her horse as fast as she could go up the Western Pass—the faster the better; there were bandits hiding all over the place here. Ready to leap upon the unsuspecting.  
  
She wasn't going to let that happen to her. So she kept moving, kept her gelding running, never looking round, never slowing him down. Fear pummeled her mind; for the moment, her brother was out of her awareness. There was no going back now. He was probably already dead, following her foster mother.  
  
Ghost leapt over a jutting bit of stone and stumbled as he landed, lurching forward. The girl shot over the gelding's shoulder, slamming into the ground and rolling. Five feet away she sat up, gasping for air. She looked over at Ghost.  
  
The silver-gray gelding snorted, shaking his mane, and stood. He was a wiry, sturdy horse, with tendons of steel—used to such tumbles, had even twisted his forelegs once or twice. He trotted over to the fallen girl, head cocked to one side. She quickly scrambled up and onto his back, the fear of bandits forcing her to move faster.  
  
She couldn't stop running. They would catch up with her if she did—and do the same with her as they did with Marilyn.  
  
Alanna the Lioness of Trebond and Pirate's Swoop was nervous. She ate with jerking motions, eyes flicking from side to side. Some-thing was amiss. Something was about to happen.  
  
"Lass, what's botherin' you?" the Baron of Pirate's Swoop and Alanna's husband, George, demanded. "You're all over the place tonight. Can't you calm down a little for the short stay you've had here? You're only a knight on the battlefield, you know."  
  
"Nonsense," the woman knight replied hotly, but going bright red all the same. George just looked at her, eyebrow crooked, until she sighed. "All right," she admitted grudgingly, "I can't help but think something's going to happen. Now that Maggur's been knocked down, it's all settled along. It's the quiet before the storm, that's what it is. I don't like it."  
  
"Alanna, lass, it's been a year and a half since Maggur. Nothing's happened. I think you're jumpin' at shadows."  
  
Alanna sighed. "You're probably right, George. I just can't get that adventure out of me. Doubtless it won't leave me until I leave this earth." She looked morose at this suggestion. Part of her really did want to settle down, when her age got the best of her, and spend some time in retirement with her husband before dying peacefully in her sleep. The other part, the restless part, wanted her to die in a glorious battle.  
  
George leaned back to consider his wife. She was pushing thirty- seven years, almost forty, and still always on edge. She never rested; was always running off for another adventure whether or not there was one. Although she enjoyed coming home, enjoyed being with George and meeting her children, she was never truly happy until faced with something to work on that no one else could accomplish. And since Maggur, King of Scanra, had been put down, there was nothing for her to do besides mop up a few renegade bandit groups. Which was hardly any work at all. "When is something not amiss in this kingdom? You've come here durin' war before, and now war's not imminent, so relax. This is one of the times you shouldn't be tense!"  
  
"That's precisely why I'm tense." Alanna sighed, hunching her shoulders. "You're right, George. I'm sorry I'm making a mess of things."  
  
"I don't think you're making a mess of anything," their oldest said, glancing up from his dinner. They looked at him in surprise. Thom rarely said anything during meals; they seldom knew whether he was following a conversation or not. "You're experiencing boredom. It's quite natural."  
  
Alanna grinned. "I know very well what boredom is, Thom. And please don't interrupt our conversations."  
  
He shrugged and went back his food and dreams. His parents looked at each other with bemusement before themselves turning to their meals. They finished the rest in silence; Thom got up and walked out, back to his studies, so dazedly an observer wouldn't been able to tell if he meant to go in that direction. Alanna and George went the opposite way, up into the balcony of their room to look out across the ocean at the setting sun. The gold light played across the moving surface, glittering like a thousand jewels.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it lass?" George asked of his wife, placing a comfortable arm around her. She leaned into his embrace, but her eyes weren't on the sea. She was frowning down at the courtyard below. "Who's that?" she asked, leaning closer for a better look. The once-time thief followed her gaze. There was a person galloping quickly down the dusty road towards their home. He carried the flag of a Tortallan messenger.  
  
Excitement shone in the knight's eyes as she raced down the drafty stone steps, her husband right behind her, to bolt across the courtyard and greet the messenger.  
  
He beat her to it. "Lady Knight Alanna of Trebond and Pirate's Swoop, and George Cooper, the Baron of Pirate's Swoop, I greet you in the name of our King, Jonathan, and the Queen, Thayet, as I bear a message from their Royal—"  
  
"Skip the formalities," Alanna snapped. "What's the news?"  
  
The messenger blinked and closed his mouth, taken aback that this short woman would interrupt him so. He was new to the job—he never thought that the Lioness' temper would be directed at him. "Uh—the King calls you to the Royal Palace in a matter of utmost urgency."  
  
Alanna sighed, trying to calm her irritation. Apparently, no one had taught this young man how to deliver an urgent message. "Why?"  
  
"Oh—uh—" the young man fumbled with the manuscript tied to his horse, and held it out. The lady knight took it and opened it impatiently. Her purple eyes scanned the paper and she turned as George came beside her. "What is it, lass?"  
  
"He doesn't say." She rolled up the paper with a snap. "He mentions a few things; nothing definite. It seems all kind of hazy to me. The only thing clear is that he wants me at the Palace. As soon as possible." She looked up at George, eyes shining in excitement. "Things are finally looking to get more lively around here."  
  
Ghost slowed as they descended the slope, sliding on the loose gravel. The girl on his back clung even tighter, making the gentle gelding snort with discomfort. He knew his way down the Pass; he didn't need anyone to guide him. They traveled this way so many times they and always ended up in Viad, Tortall, on the road to Corus. Riders could sleep on his back; he wouldn't let them fall unless he slipped himself, and that was as rare as he would when they led him. So he picked his way slowly down the rocky hillside, careful not to spill his precious burden.  
  
They made it down. Ghost moved smoothly into a trot, jogging along the well-known trail. No bandits had attempted to attack them; Ghost had moved so quickly he had come and gone before such people had a chance to yell. Thus the name, "Ghost". And now they were nearly the entire way through the Pass, almost across the border of Tortall. With fear and urgency backing him, the silver gelding could nearly fly.  
  
The girl moaned and stirred. Sitting up, she squinted her eyes against the rising sun and looked around at the rocks and scrubs. Almost there, she decided and laid her head back down. She hurt—she hurt everywhere; aches and burning pains covered her body. Whimpering, she sat sidesaddle, trying to get comfortable. She desperately wanted to stop. But she dared not halt the gelding; they were still in danger. Still in the Pass ridden with bandits and mountain-men.  
  
She looked down. There—the coolness of the forest was there. She hated heat, and it looked as if it was to be the start of another hazy, humid day. Sighing, she leaned forward and buried her face in the gelding's silvery-gray mane. "Gee-up, Ghost," she whispered hoarsely, so his ears flicked back and he thrust with his back legs, moving into a gentle lope.  
  
Abruptly Ghost's ears pricked forward and his head came up; he faltered and she bounced uncomfortably. He turned to look to his left, ignoring the girl's prodding with her legs, and cantered off the trail. Frightened, she pulled on his right rein and he tossed his head in confusion, wanting to follow the commands of his rider but in the same way fancying the not-path to his left. With a bemused snort he halted and planted all four hooves firmly on the rocky ground. Slowly, the girl dismounted—keeping a firm hold on his reins; afraid he may run off—and limped to his head.  
  
"What is it, Ghost?"  
  
He turned to look at her with a dark eye and she gazed back silently. His eye was as large as her fist and full with eagerness, but also knowledge. She stared at him wordlessly then, motivated by trust, nodded. "If you think it's safe."  
  
She mounted and clutched him tightly as he trotted to the closer side of the forest. In an hour they reached it and slipped into the cool shade. Shaking her head, the girl flapped her hair to create a wind on the back of her neck. She was soaking with sweat, and in her mad rush to escape her home had brought no provisions. "Ghost," she whispered, "can we stop?"  
  
Ghost shook his head violently and traveled for another hour until, rocking gently with the movements of his body and lulled with the rhythm of his hooves, she began to doze once more.  
  
She was awoken by the unexpected halt and jerked her head up dazedly. The first thing she saw was Ghost's mane, and then, sitting up, looked around.  
  
There was a mountain pony standing there—the harsh, obstinate kind. This was an old, gray-haired one, who looked like she—or he, the girl couldn't see from the tall horse's back—had once been a dark gray to begin with. "Hello," she said softly, "who are y—" she stopped and shrank back, wide eyes staring behind the pony at the woman who had just appeared.  
  
She was brown-haired and had gray-blue eyes. She was dressed simply, but in clothes that were clean and new. She wore a bundle over her shoulder, of perhaps a baby. Her expression was of gentle compassion, but the girl knew that expressions meant nothing of true character.  
  
"Hullo," the woman said. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?"  
  
The girl shook her head and shifted away from her. The woman smiled. "I'll tell you mine. It's Veralidaine Sarrasri, but you can call me Daine." 


	2. Royal Trouble

A/N: took a long time to finally type chap two, but, as an excuse, I was banned from the computer then I had an English paper due just last Tuesday... so here we go!

Alanna entered the Great Hall and looked around. King Jonathan of Conté stood at the end of it, looking pale and harassed. Queen Thayet stood beside him, along with Numair and Wyldon. Alanna strode up to them, studying their worried faces. "What's happening? What's wrong?"  
  
Jon snapped out of his reverie. "We'd best go somewhere we can talk in private," he said, and with a glance to his companions led them out of the Great Hall. Alanna glanced at Numair: he shook his head and shrugged. He didn't know either. She turned the other way, to look at Wyldon. His face was pinched and white. She cocked a questioning eyebrow, something she had learned from George; he also shook his head. "Not here," he whispered. She relented.  
  
They entered a smaller hall Alanna had only been in once or twice, and sat down at the long table in the middle of it.  
  
"Our situation," the King said, tight-faced. Thayet touched his arm sympathetically. "We have a civil war in our hands."  
  
Alanna stared. "Who's the leader?" she asked. "When did this start? Why was I informed after everyone else?"  
  
Jon smiled slightly. It took about five years off his age. "We'll get to that in a minute, it began three weeks ago, and we thought it was just a little uprising; no reason to call our most famous knight in. If we told you about a tiny revolt you would have come in immediately with full armor and sword drawn when you were enjoying a stay with your family. Please don't scold me." Alanna folded her arms and waited, annoyed. A quiet chuckle ran around the table.  
"So who's the leader?" Alanna asked again when no one went on.  
  
The King inspected his fingernails. Wyldon saved the day. "He's the son of an infamous man."  
  
"Well, who?"  
  
The warrior swallowed, stared at the table and answered, "The son of Roger, Duke of Conté."

The girl yanked the gelding's reins, trying desperately to turn him, but he shook his head and stood rock-still. Terrified, not knowing what to do, she clutched his mane and shrank down on his back, as far away from the woman as she could get. She didn't dare get off the horse. What if there were more of them?  
  
Daine the Wildemage made no move towards them, but her heart softened with pity as she stared at the injured girl. She was reminded of herself, so many years ago, running away in terror and anger from the attackers. "What happened?"  
  
She shook her head frantically. "N-nothing, ma'am."  
  
"There's no need to call me that. My name is Daine. Won't you trust me with yours?" What's her name? She asked silently of the gelding. What's yours?  
  
He studied her for a long minute before answering. My name is Ghost, he said finally.  
  
It suits you.  
  
My human is Reza, young Reza. He hesitated. Be gentle. She is only a filly, and very scared.  
  
I can see that. I'll be careful. Daine refocused on Reza. "I promise I won't hurt you," she said softly. "Will you at least tell me your name?"  
  
Reza looked down at the interest in Ghost's eyes. Ghost was usually a good judge of character, and he was as relaxed and as fascinated as she had seen him. Relaxing slightly, Reza wrapped her arms around herself and sat up straight. "Reza. My name's Reza."  
  
"Reza. What a pretty name. Listen—I have food and water, and some healing solutions. Why don't you follow me, and I'll give you some." She turned to go. "C'mon, Cloud." The grizzled pony plodded after her. Ghost started to move forward, but Reza pulled back on the reins; he halted, snorting. She glanced up at the trees. They were peaceful. She looked down at the mossy earth. It trembled slightly, tremors coming up Ghost's legs. He danced in place nervously.  
  
It was all right. Reza hesitantly touched Ghost's sides with her heels and he trotted after the woman and her mountain pony, which glanced back, flattened its ears to its head, and aimed a kick at them. Obligingly Ghost stopped.  
  
"Cloud!" Daine's voice was full of warning. The pony tossed its head and let out an impatient snort. Ghost gave a warning click of his teeth, a sign that his great patience was ending, and followed them at a slightly slower pace.  
  
They entered a small camp. Reza's mouth dropped open with the sight of all the animals gathered around. They studied her back, interest in their eyes. Wolves to snakes to birds to monkeys, they clustered around Daine as she walked to the middle. She stroked and touched each one of them before sitting next to the campfire and rummaging through a pack. Without her asking, Ghost walked over to the woman and cocked an expectant eye back at the girl. As if on cue the woman's voice floated out: "I can't look after you properly if you're on that beautiful gelding of yours."  
  
Ghost huffed with pleasure at being referred as "beautiful." Slowly, Reza slid down his muscular back. Her trembling legs collapsed and she fell heavily to the ground, immediately going red with embarrassment. Daine pretended not to see. Spreading a blob of opaque goo onto her palms, she smeared it on the worst of Reza's bloody bruises. It burned sharply for a short second, and then lessened into an enjoyably warm thrum. Reza sighed, leaning against Ghost, who had settled down against her back. It felt so good to relax. Her knotted muscles were killing her.  
  
"Where were you going?" Diane's voice was firm.  
  
Reza answered without thinking. "Somewhere without bad people. I got magic. I'm useful."  
  
"I'm sure you are. What kind of magic do you have?"  
  
"I dunno," Reza yawned enormously, the exhaustion she had been pushing away returning with vigor. "Tired. Marilyn said it's wild."  
  
Daine frowned. She supposed "wild" meant "wild magic", yet she couldn't sense any copper fire in the girl. "Well, we'll talk about it when you wake up. Do you want to sleep in a bedroll?"  
  
The girl didn't move. "Nah. Plants are good. I like plants."  
  
Plants?  
  
Ghost snorted. Leave her be, he said. She's tired and she lost her brother and foster dam.  
  
Daine nodded absently and smiled. "Why don't you sleep now? We'll talk about it later, okay?"  
  
Reza nodded sleepily and Daine helped her over to a plush mound of moss where she fell asleep immediately, curled up with a peaceful expression. Ghost lay down around her to support her back, resting his head beside hers. He watched the other animals warily, ready to protect her against anything even though the People/two-legger repeatedly assured him there was nothing to be worried of. So he remained alert, cupping his ears toward any remotely threatening sound, waiting for his two-legged filly to wake.

Brighter had begun to limp again even though he had set the fracture a day ago. Once more Talis leaned back and slid off her so she could rest. The cut on his side burned, and he bent double to inspect it. It was ugly; it needed to be cleaned but he had lost the cleaning solution on the trail somewhere, the three days ago he had been attacked. But it needed to be cleansed. Turning to Brighter, he knelt to examine her left hind leg. It looked slightly swollen at the heel again—probably rapped by a rock, and the cloth he had bound it was tattered shreds. He touched it; Brighter snorted with her ears pinned back.  
  
This was unfortunate; he was used to Ghost's strong legs. "Easy, girl." Stripping off his shirt, he ripped it into long shreds and, trapping the injured foot between his knees, gently but firmly moved it to its rightful position. Brighter danced in place, ears pitched back, and her head whipped around to bite. He ignored the hot pain of the pinched skin on his shoulder as he did with his wound; it didn't matter as the horse's fracture did.  
  
Leaning against a nearby rock, he rested his head for a moment. Stars were beginning to collect around the corners of his eyes, and he cursed his momentary weakness. This kind of thing had never happened to him—well of course in that respect, but why? He raised his head to the clear sky, gazing upward. "Drake," he whispered, "Drake, I need you, please... help me." Helplessness echoed his words, and for a moment, he felt something respond. But then it was gone, and the emptiness cut his insides like a knife. Drake had always been there in times of trouble; only because she had spent too much time in the colder North she had to leave. He knew she would return as quickly as possible, for she knew what kind of trouble he was in. But right now...  
  
Right now he was alone. He wasn't surprised when a tear dripped along his cheek, but wiped it angrily away and leaned forward to finish his task. With a bit of snorting and whinnying on Brighter's part, he managed to set the bone. Then he stood and took the horse's muzzle. "Come on, small one," he whispered, walking forward. "Let us find my sister."

Far away, a cold blue eye opened, words echoing in the owner's mind. A square head lifted, the eyes staring into space, and with a snarl from the long throat powerful legs thrust and chest muscles heaved. The Drake climbed out of the active volcano into the sky, mentally checking the days she had been asleep. Three! Three days! She had been sleeping while her human friend was in danger, maybe dying! Only a few hours in the heat of the volcano would've sufficed. The Drake cut through the air, wings pumping, rage overcame her heart and mind aided and abetted by her growling stomach.

Sometime near daybreak, Talis emerged from the Pass. Pain shot into his chest every time he took a breath, and haze threatened to cloud his vision completely. He checked Brighter's heel. The swelling had gone down considerably. Good. He climbed on her back again, urging her into a trot.  
  
Her warmth and just slightly limping gait put him to sleep immediately.

Okay, kinda long and kinda slow... next one will be faster; promise!


End file.
